The Premature Death of Beauregard Maverick
by MaverickLover2
Summary: When a celebratory trip turns into something more sinister, two pairs of brothers are involved in a long-simmering plot of deadly revenge.
1. Ghost from the Past

The Premature Death of Beauregard Maverick

Chapter 1 – Ghost from the Past

"I told you he'd catch up to you someday, didn't I?" Those words came from Bentley Maverick, otherwise known as Ben, the younger brother of the nattily dressed man standing next to him at the bar.

"Yeah, but how did I know it'd be this soon?" This from the older brother, Beauregard Maverick.

"Soon? It's taken him twenty years, Beau!"

"That's what I mean!" Beau took another swallow of the black liquid in his coffee cup before setting the cup down. "How can you take a threat seriously when the man that made it waits twenty years to carry it out?"

"Vic's brother says he's been lookin' for you all this time."

Beauregard snorted. "And I been so danged hard to find, ain't I? I been livin' in the same small town all that time, not hidin' from nobody, just raisin' my boys and stayin' outta trouble. Unlike Vic."

Ben almost laughed. His brother had the strangest definition of 'stayin' outta trouble.' But, unlike Vic Hansboro, Beauregard Maverick had never spent longer than three days in a row in jail. And he'd certainly never been in prison. That was a claim Vic couldn't make, with at least ten years courtesy of Beau's testimony at his trial.

"Even so, you'd be wise to keep wearin' that pistol of yours. At least until you know if Vic still wants to kill you or not."

"Aw, he didn't mean it when he first said it. Too much time's passed since then; Vic probably don't even remember threatenin' me. Besides, what was I supposed to do? They were gonna take Bret and Bart if I didn't testify. Testify or run, those were my only two choices. Them boys needed stability – and I gave it to 'em. If he wants to get even with me for what I did, I guess he'll just have to."

"Make sure you're always heeled. Ya can't afford to get caught naked if he finds ya. I ain't gonna bury nobody else up on the hill."

Before Beau could say anything else, the two men that he and Ben had been waiting for walked up to the bar. Both tall and dark, the oldest one looked almost exactly like Beauregard; the younger one not as much, but there was still a resemblance that marked him as a Maverick, too. The aforementioned 'boys,' now all grown up, wondering just what had left so much concern on their Pappy's face. Beau's mirror image spoke first.

"Hey, Pappy, we got time for some coffee, too? We sure could use one."

"Or two or three," added the younger one, Bart by name.

Ben gave his brother a look that Beau ignored, instead draping an arm around each son. "Sure you can, boys." He turned his immediate attention to the older one. "Played all night, didn't ya?"

His look-alike nodded and yawned. "You knew we were gonna, Pappy. Ain't no sense comin' to Abilene and sleepin' in the hotel room all night. You'd never let us live that down, would you?"

"Besides, we won all night," Bart told him.

"Of course you did, Bartley, you're Mavericks."

The oldest son, Bret, winked at the younger one. They both appeared to be about twenty years old, although Bret was, in actuality, just about to turn twenty-two. The trip to Abilene had been a nice, early get-away birthday present, and they'd arrived just yesterday afternoon.

"Say, Pa, let's go get breakfast. And Bret will buy, because he won the most." Bart smiled at his brother, knowing that once the suggestion was out in the open, Bret wouldn't dare back down.

"Yeah, Pappy, let's do. Breakfast sounds real good, especially with the four of us here. I can tell you all about the three straight flushes that I drew last night."

Bart groaned. "Not again. If I have to listen to that story one more time . . . "

Ben nodded his head and grabbed Bret by the arm. "Breakfast is a real good idea, Beauregard. Especially when neither one of us has to buy it." He looked straight at the elder Maverick of the group and then inclined his head towards a Faro game going on in the back of the room. It took Beau a minute to catch on, but he finally saw what Ben was gesturing towards – a man that appeared to be a much older looking Vic Hansboro.

"Well, you're gonna hafta listen to it, Bart. Because we're goin' to breakfast and Bret's buyin'." Beau hooked his youngest son's arm and led them towards the dining room, away from the gambling saloon. His brother Bentley had been right, at least partially right – Hansboro was here in Abilene. Was that a coincidence, or was Vic still tracking him after all these years?

Beau let his mind wander back to the days when Vic and Tyler Wilkes were good friends with the Maverick brothers – gambling companions, as it were. Ben's wife Abigail had been dead for several years, but Isabelle Grayson Maverick had succumbed to Valley Fever a mere six months ago. Beau had almost lost his mind with her death; as a matter of fact, he made a serious attempt one night to kill himself. A few weeks later Vic and Tyler proposed a trip out of town – to Dallas, to try and get Beauregard's mind on something that wasn't Isabelle. Lily Mae (Ben's housekeeper) volunteered to take care of all three boys at Ben's house, and Beau was finally persuaded to go, against his better judgment.

The trip was a disaster from beginning to end. The four men were ambushed by robber's right outside of the city, and were dead broke by the time they arrived – all except for the thousand dollar bill Beau had secretly pinned inside his coat pocket. They parlayed the money into quite a bit more, but Vic was furious about the robbery and was determined to get their money back one way or the other. After a night of non-stop drinking he'd come up with a wild-eyed scheme – to rob the Dallas Bank.

Tyler was younger than the rest of them and a little on the reckless side; he agreed to Vic's proposal. Ben and Beau had three little boys to think of . . . and an abiding fear of bullets and prison. They told Vic no, in no uncertain terms, and tried to walk away from the whole thing. While Vic and Tyler headed for the bank, Beau and Ben packed their horses and lit out for home. It didn't do them any good.

Halfway back to Little Bend the Maverick's found themselves in the middle of an unfriendly posse. Hansboro and Wilkes had been caught making their escape, and the hotel clerk informed the marshal about the other two potential 'outlaws'. Even if they hadn't participated in the hold-up, they'd make good witnesses at trial.

Ben hesitated to co-operate, and Beauregard flat out refused. Thus began the threats – _'Testify or the judge will see to it you never have custody of those boys again.'_ Ben acquiesced immediately, and Beau intended to – but he wanted to talk to Vic first. He had to make his friend understand the situation he'd been forced into. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his boys, including being a witness for the prosecution.

Vic didn't care what threat hung over the Maverick's head. He could probably get off with a year or two without Beau's testimony, and after the paltry explanation offered by Maverick, Vic made his threat. "I swear on your hide, if you testify against me I'll kill you, Beau Maverick. No matter how long it takes me to find you, I'll kill you." Vic was sentenced to ten years.

"Pa, we're here. You payin' attention, Pa?" Bret asked as they turned into the dining room.

"I'm payin' attention, Bret," his father answered. Of course, he didn't explain what it was he was paying attention to. He sounded brave, fearless, when he'd brushed aside Ben's warnings earlier. And he was – but only for himself. If Vic was intent on pursuing vengeance, and he took it out on Bret or Bart . . . Beau reached down and felt the Colt revolver at his hip. He hadn't carried a gun in years . . .

"Pappy, c'mon. We're starvin'."

That was nothing new, and it brought him out of his reverie. "Don't worry, I ain't tryin' to starve ya," he told his oldest son. And for the moment Vic Hansboro was forgotten. But not for long.


	2. Payback

Chapter 2 – Payback

Beauregard's sons had gone to bed, but Beau and Ben were still sitting in the dining room drinking coffee. Ben made a statement, and Beauregard wasn't sure he'd heard it correctly. "What did you say?"

"I thought you weren't worried about Vic."

"Hmph. What gave you that idea?"

Ben lowered his voice. "You did, Beau."

"Not real smart, was I?" He pulled out a cigar and lit it, then took a deep draw before setting it down in what passed for an ashtray. "Ben . . . do you think he's really followin' me?"

"Can you afford to take the chance?" It was impossible to read Beau's eyes. They were so dark that typically no visible emotion showed there, and right now was no exception.

"Nope. But there's only one way to find out. I'm gonna hafta talk to him."

"You could be walkin' into a trap. He might not be alone."

"I'm not alone, either."

"No. You're not." They hadn't been as close as they could have been growing up, but the older they got the more time sealed the bond the brothers had. Beauregard had been vital in opening Ben's eyes to the feelings he had for both Abigail and his newborn son, and Bentley was the only one who understood the depths of Beau's despair over the loss of his beloved Isabelle. Just like Bret and Bart, they would do anything to protect each other. "When?"

It was an unexpected but easy answer. "Now, Ben."

Bentley looked up and straight at the man that stood in the doorway to the dining room. He laid his hand on his Colt under the table before realizing that Hansboro wasn't heeled, and slowly relaxed. "You want me to stay?" he asked quietly as Vic strode towards them.

There was a calmness and an attitude in his brother's eyes that hadn't been there moments before. Beau shook his head. "No."

Ben left his napkin on the table and stood up. "I won't be far."

As Vic got to the table, he nodded his head slightly. "Maverick."

"Hansboro." Bentley ambled away from the table and back across the room. He got to the doorway and stopped, looking back at his older brother, then disappeared around the corner.

"Sit down, Vic," Beau invited. "Want some coffee?"

"Thanks," came back quickly as Vic pulled a chair away from the table and turned his cup over. Beau signaled the waitress and she brought over a fresh pot, filling both cups before she left.

"Been a long time."

"Almost twenty years."

Beau studied Hansboro's face. There was no sense in playing games, might as well get everything out in the open. "You come here to kill me?"

"Nope," Vic replied, and Beau started to relax. "I came here to kill your boys."

XXXXXXXX

"Bret."

"Yeah, Bart."

"You notice anything strange about Pappy?"

Bret chuckled and rolled over in bed. "When have I not?"

"No, I'm serious."

Bret thought back over the events of the morning. "You mean the way he kept lookin' around and pickin' at his food?"

"Yeah."

"He wasn't like that last night."

Bart sat up in bed. "No, he wasn't. Somethin' happened while we were playin' poker."

"Uncle Ben seemed alright. What do you suppose . . . "

"Happened with Pappy? Who knows? But I didn't like the feelin' I was gettin'."

Bret rolled out the other side of the bed and started pulling his pants on. "I didn't either, but I didn't wanna say anything. Besides, he wouldn't have given us a straight answer anyway."

"So whatta you propose we do about it?"

"Get your lazy ass outta bed and go ask him what's goin' on."

"What makes you think he'll give us a straight answer now?" Bart moved to the edge of the bed, slipped on his shirt and began to button it.

"I don't, but it's worth a shot, ain't it?"

"Maybe we're imaginin' it." Bart glanced at his brother and saw the worry there.

"Maybe we're not," Bret replied as he slipped on a boot.

XXXXXXXX

"You ain't serious," was the first thing out of Beauregard's mouth.

Vic said nothing, just took a swallow of coffee and set his cup back down. He watched the emotions play across Maverick's face and knew he'd hit a nerve. Sometimes over the years relationships between fathers and sons changed – good to know theirs hadn't. He'd been waiting too long to extract his revenge.

"Did you really think they'd take them kids away from you? And do what with 'em, exactly? They'da threatened you with anything to get you to testify. I sat in that jail cell and listened to 'em plot, one thing right after another. I tried to tell you that, but you wouldn't listen. All you could think about was them boys. So instead of gettin' two years in prison, me and Tyler got ten. Three years later Tyler was dead."

' _Dead?'_ Beau thought. "What happened?"

"His cell mate tried to bust out, and he got away. But Tyler got killed. He'da been free if it weren't for you and your brother."

"What about Bentley? You gonna try to kill his boy, too?"

Vic had to admit, Beau had gotten his emotions back under control. His face betrayed no panic, and his voice sounded perfectly calm. But Hansboro knew better than to believe he hadn't seriously disturbed the gambler, and it did his soul good to know he'd rattled the psyche of one of the most unexcitable men alive.

"I haven't decided yet. He ain't here, is he?"

"No." There was no sense in lying to Vic, it would be easy enough to discover the truth.

"I saw both of yours. Good-lookin' young men, oldest one looks just like you. Pretty good poker players from what I seen, too. Won't be too hard to get rid of 'em."

"Hansboro . . . I don't care what you do to me. Maybe I deserve it, maybe I don't. But you got no cause to harm them . . . they never did a thing to you."

The former convict finished his coffee and pushed his chair back from the table. "No. No they didn't. But their Pa sure did."

Just as the man that had announced his intention to kill them disappeared, Bret and Bart Maverick re-entered the dining room and found their father sitting exactly where they'd left him more than an hour ago. "Pappy, you alright?" Bret asked.

It took more than a minute for Beauregard to answer Bret. "I'm . . . fine, boys. I thought you two were in bed." A long pause, and then, "Did you happen to see your Uncle Ben out there?"


	3. Kill or Be Killed

Chapter 3 – Kill or Be Killed

"You lookin' for me?" Ben asked as he put his hand on Beau's shoulder.

"I was. Who found you?"

A small chuckle escaped the younger brother. "Well, to tell you the truth, I found them."

"Doesn't surprise me. Come take a walk with me, would ya?"

That could only mean one thing as far as Ben was concerned. Vic was, indeed, going to be trouble. "Sure." Beauregard left the saloon and went outside, Ben following him. The brothers walked fifteen or twenty feet down the boardwalk before Beau lit a cigar and passed it on to Ben, then lit another for himself.

"They didn't follow us, did they?" Beauregard was referring to his sons; he didn't want them to know he was aware of their presence.

"Only to the doors of the saloon. Vic?"

"Yeah, Vic. You were right about him, Ben. He's determined to have his revenge, but he has no intention of takin' it out on me or you. He's goin' after the boys."

"The boys. All three of 'em?"

"He says he ain't made up his mind about Beau yet. So far he's only decided to kill Bret and Bart."

"Sounds like he blames you more than me."

Beauregard nodded. "Sounded like that to me, too. Where is Beau, by the way?"

Ben stopped to relight his cigar. "In Louisiana, with Lily Mae. They went to visit her sister."

"Good. He should be safe for a while. We gotta figure out what to do."

"I think we better go see John Law, don't you?"

A long drag on his cigar preceded Beau's answer. "What good would that do? Marshal ain't gonna do a damn thing with nothin' but a verbal threat."

"Then it looks like Vic Hansboro is our problem."

Beau stopped dead in his tracks. "I guess he always was, wasn't he? Sounds like we better go back and sit the boys down. It's time they heard what got us into this mess. I sure ain't gonna let Hansboro shoot 'em, without tryin' to protect 'em."

"Who's Hansboro?" Bret asked, having finally caught up with his father and his uncle.

"And who's he tryin' to shoot?" was Bart's question.

"Let's go back to the hotel room," Ben suggested.

"Our hotel room," Beauregard insisted.

Once upstairs behind closed and locked doors, Ben and Beau determined it necessary to tell the whole story. Starting with Isabelle's death and the agony that followed it, Ben painted an incomplete but compelling picture. Incomplete only because there were certain things about those weeks that he omitted; primarily the depths of Beauregard's despair and what he attempted to do about it. He acquainted the boys with Vic and Tyler and the part they played in trying to change Beau's state of mind; then told them about the ill-fated trip to Dallas and the ambush along the way.

Beau took over the tale at that point, including the wild night of drinking and Vic's hair-brained plot to rob the bank. From there he detailed the foursome's split into two different factions – Vic and Tyler went ahead with the robbery and were caught soon afterwards; he and Ben declined to participate and packed their bags for home. They'd traveled about halfway back to Little Bend when they were overtaken by the posse and arrested. Not as participants, but as material witnesses.

The Mavericks refused to cooperate and were soon being threatened with all sorts of consequences, the worst of which was the state of Texas assuming parental control over all three boys. Beau immediately agreed to testify against Vic and Tyler; he would do nothing that could possibly jeopardize his fatherly privileges with Bret and Bart. Ben quickly followed suit. Vic Hansboro and Beau Maverick had one last meeting before the trial, with Beau attempting to explain his change of heart regarding his testimony. Vic had no children, and he couldn't fathom Beauregard's devotion to his.

Vic and Tyler were found guilty of attempted bank robbery and sentenced to ten years each in Texas State Prison. The Mavericks were released to return home, and that was the end of it, or so they thought. Beauregard and Bentley went on with their lives, playing poker and raising their boys. And then they'd come to Abilene for a celebration of sorts and seemed to have resurrected a long-forgotten nightmare.

"Vic Hansboro's here, and he's been followin' us," Beau explained. "After you two went upstairs this mornin', he stopped in the dining room for a bit – with a message for me."

"What does he want, Pappy?" Bret asked solemnly.

"He wants revenge; he blames me and your Uncle Ben for the ten years he spent in prison."

"But . . . you said they got caught robbin' the bank," Bart pointed out.

"They did, son."

"Then how could they blame you for the ten-year sentence?"

"Without us as material witnesses, they probably would've only been sentenced to two or three years. 'Spur of the Moment' their lawyer called it. But we proved planning and forethought."

"Is it just Hansboro that's followin' you? What about Tyler?"

Ben spoke up. "Tyler's dead."

"Pappy . . . Hansboro's revenge? Is he tryin' to kill you?" Bret wanted an answer to his previous question.

Beauregard shook his head. "No, son. I wish it was that easy. He's not out to kill me. He intends to kill . . . you."

"Me?" Bret asked incredulously. "Me?"

"And your brother."

"Why us? We didn't have anything to do with it," Bart reminded his father needlessly.

"That seems to be his point."

"Just for . . . "

"The fun of it? What about Cousin Beau?"

"He hasn't decided about Beau yet," Ben explained. "I've no doubt he'll get around to him if we don't stop Vic first."

"So it's kill or be killed?" Bart asked bluntly.

"It appears that way."

Bart turned to his brother with all the audacity he could muster. "I cast my vote for kill."

Bret wore a slightly stunned look on his face but nodded his head, the same audacious tone in his voice. "I agree with you. I don't see any other way out of this. Kill."

"Boys . . . " Beau pleaded. "You can't do this."

"We won't, Pappy," Bart promised. "Unless there's no other way around it."


	4. The Missing Piece

Chapter 4 – The Missing Piece?

Bret and Bart were sitting in the saloon, as isolated from any occupied table as they could get. Each nursed a cup of coffee and a head spinning full of details they never expected to know, including the most absurd one of all . . . a man they'd yet to meet had announced his intention to kill them.

"We need to find out what this Hansboro looks like," Bret insisted.

"We'll do that. I just needed some peace and quiet, and Pappy wasn't gonna quit talkin' anytime soon. Sounds like this guy has really got him shook up," Bart pointed out.

"I don't know that it's Hansboro so much as it's what he's threatenin' to do. And it didn't sound like Pappy doubted him, either."

Bart nodded as he drank more coffee. "I noticed that, too. So this is a serious threat, and not just some outlaw blowin' smoke."

"Think about it, Bart. Pappy wouldn't have told us if it wasn't serious." They were less than two years apart in age, but Bret had always been more responsible than his brother. A lot of that came from Bret's 'Big Brother' status; he'd grown up faster because he had to.

"So what do we do now?"

Bret shook his head. "I don't know, little brother. I just don't know."

From across the saloon they were being watched by the very man that had threatened their lives. They looked his way several times but gave no sign of recognition – maybe Beauregard hadn't told them about him. He had an advantage right now – he knew exactly what Maverick's sons looked like, but they didn't know who he was. Maybe he shouldn't have discussed his plans for revenge so openly – after all, he'd been waiting almost twenty years. Yet when he saw the man he'd plotted against, he could wait no longer, and he revealed his real intent – to eliminate the sons rather than the father.

It was all so clear at that moment . . . he was sure it would be much more painful for the man that had cost him his future to lose his boys rather than his own life. After all, if it hadn't been for Beauregard he probably would have gone back to that young lady who waited so patiently for him in Houston, and had kids of his own by now. Instead he'd sat in a prison cell for ten years, and then spent more years trying to make a living while he worked his way back to that dump the Mavericks called home.

His attention was drawn back across the room when the two young men he'd been watching got up to leave. He couldn't get over how much the oldest boy – Bret – looked like his father. There was a resemblance between the two sons, but the younger one must have favored his mother. Still, you knew when you saw him that you were looking at a Maverick.

Vic swirled the whiskey in his glass before drinking it dry. Now where were they going? Across the room and out the door, they turned right and headed up the street. To another saloon? Not likely. The marshal's office? Why? What good would it do them to report the threat he'd made? Besides, nobody'd heard him other than Beauregard, and that made it simply Beau's word against his.

Vic got up from the table he was occupying and followed them out. When he got to the batwing doors he paused and looked up and down the street, but they were nowhere to be seen. If they'd gone to the marshal's they'd still be walking.

"See anybody yet?" Bart asked from inside the tobacco store.

"Yeah, one man at the doors of the saloon. Shorter than Pappy, looks older, too. Grayin' hair, wears a mustache. Just took a step outside, lookin' up the street this way. Wearin' a blue shirt with a black vest – clothes are old lookin' and worn out. Black gun belt, two gun rig. Now he's goin' back inside. That's gotta be him, Bart. Let's wait a few minutes and go check with Pappy."

"Or Uncle Ben. He doesn't seem to be as involved with all this revenge business."

"Sounded like Hansboro laid most of the blame on Pappy," Bret stated as he ducked his head back into the tobacco store.

"Yeah . . . he's gonna kill both of us but he ain't decided about Beau yet. I hafta agree with you. But why?"

"Pappy was the one grievin'. Guess Vic figures if not for that, there'da been no trip to Dallas."

Bart nodded but was still perplexed. "We're missin' somethin' here, Bret. There's a piece of this whole thing that somebody ain't told us."

"C'mon. Let's go see what we can find out." They left the store carefully and headed back down to the hotel to talk to Ben – or Pappy.

XXXXXXXX

"Yeah, that's him," Ben confirmed. "So he's watchin' you. I still think we oughta go see the marshal."

Bret shook his head. "Pappy's right, John Law won't do nothin' on say-so. 'Cept be mad that he's got one more lunatic with a gun to look out for." Bart stood up and headed for the door. "Where you goin', little brother?"

"Down to see where Hansboro's stayin'. Don't seem right he knows where we are, but we don't know where he is."

Bart hadn't been gone two or three minutes when Beauregard returned to the room, with his youngest son following him. "He ain't stayin' at this hotel," Bart informed them.

"No, he's not. He's down the street at the Abilene Royal Hotel. That's who I was out lookin' for. And I don't wanna see either of you out by yourself from now on."

"Pappy . . . "

"Pa . . . "

"No excuses. We gotta protect each other till we get this figured out. Ben, go send that wire to Lily Mae. Tell her to stay in Louisiana until she hears from one of us." Beau removed his hat and set it on the dresser, then turned back to his sons. "I checked you boys outta your room. I'm havin' your belongin's moved up here. It'll be tight, but I think we'll be better off if we're together."

"Why don't we just go home, Pappy?" It seemed like a reasonable question to Bret.

"Your uncle and me considered it, but I think we're safer here. At least for the time being."

"Pappy . . . "

"Yes, Bartley?"

"It seems to me and Bret there's somethin' missin' here. Somethin' you ain't told us, maybe? Some other reason for Hansboro's hate?"

Ben and Beauregard exchanged glances; it seemed there was something missing to them too, but neither one of them could think of anything. "Don't know what it could be. We was always on good terms with Vic. As for Tyler . . . dead men don't hold no grudge."

"Does Hansboro blame you for Wilkes death?"

Beau thought back over the tale Vic had told him. 'Yep. Yep, he does. But I don't think . . . they was never that close a friends."

"Then there's somethin' he ain't told you. Somethin' he blames you and you alone for. A woman maybe? Did Vic have a woman?"

Twenty years old and the first thing his mind went to was a woman. What was Beau gonna do with his youngest son? "None that I know of."

"What happened to the money?" Bret asked next.

"I . . . I don't know. I just assumed . . . that the posse recovered it."

"How much did they get?"

"Close to twenty thousand dollars, I heard tell," Ben answered. "We weren't in court for the whole trial, just the parts where they wanted us to testify. So maybe . . . maybe nobody ever found the money. But how could Vic think we had it? We never saw him nor Tyler after they got caught. We were halfway home by the time the posse caught up with us."

"Only one way to find out, Pappy. Marshal's office in Dallas would still have it on record as missin', wouldn't they?"

Beau nodded. "They should. Ben . . . "

"I know. Wire the Dallas Marshal's office when I wire Lily Mae. In the meantime . . . "

"I'll send a message to Vic. Let's see if I can convince the old dog that I've got what he really wants . . ."


	5. No Viable Option

Chapter 5 – No Viable Option

Beauregard sat waiting in the Bella Union Saloon for almost an hour before Vic showed up. Maverick was on his fourth cup of coffee by that time and did little more than raise an eyebrow when Hansboro sat down at the table. "You sent for me?"

"You never were prompt, were you, Vic?"

"Hey, honey, bring me a coffee, would ya?" Vic called to the passing red head. Then he turned back to Beau. "I waited a long time for you, old man. You can wait an hour for me."

"What is it that you really want from me, Vic? I know you think you want revenge, but there's somethin' else, ain't there? Twenty thousand dollars, maybe?"

"See, I knew if I scared you bad enough you'd remember what was really important."

"I do remember what's really important, and their names are Bret and Bart. It's the Dallas bank robbery money, ain't it? Why would you think I had it?"

Vic was laughing as the girl brought his coffee. "Because Tyler told me he gave you instructions on where to find it."

"Was that before or after he died?"

"Don't be smart with me, Beau. There wasn't no reason for Tyler to lie to me."

"How did he get it to begin with?"

"Same old story. The posse was gainin' ground on us and I thought he had a better chance of gettin' away. I was wrong."

"The only time I saw Tyler after the posse hauled us back in was the day I testified in court."

Vic gave a little chuckle this time. "Wrong. You came to see him once after we were convicted."

"I came to . . . oh, Lord. I forgot about that. I did come to see him after the conviction, because he sent me a note askin' me to come. He told me his mama was sick and he'd written her a letter; begged me to git it to her. And I did what he asked."

"Sure, Beauregard. And what did the letter say?"

"I don't know, Vic. I didn't read it; it was for his mama."

"He told me it was directions to where he'd buried the money, and that you were supposed to get him and me broken outta jail. When that still hadn't happened three years later, he made other plans. And those plans got him killed." Hansboro finished the last of his coffee and waved the red head over. Once she'd refilled the cups and headed back to the bar he glared at Beau. "So where is it, Beau? What'd you do with it?"

Beauregard shook his head. "I don't have it, Vic. I never did."

"You expect me to believe that? I heard Ben's got a pretty fancy house. Is that where it went? Did you buy your younger brother a fancy house?"

"Ben bought that house right after him and Abigail got married. I didn't have nothin' to do with it."

They sat at the table for another five minutes before either of them spoke again. "You sure you wanna stick to that story? Really sure? 'Cause if you do, I'm gonna have to get my twenty thousand dollars some other way. The way we first talked about. You know, the ones named Bret and Bart."

There was a hissing sound in the air, and it took Hansboro a minute to realize it came from the man sitting across from him. "I'm gonna tell you this once, and once only, Vic. If you harm a hair on Bret or Bart's head – a single hair, Vic, that's all its gonna take – it's me you'll have to answer to. And I will show you no mercy, understand? No mercy."

The well-dressed gambler stood and slammed his fist on the table. "I told you once before what I'd do if you went after 'em, and I promise you now – I will kill you, Vic Hansboro. Without a second thought."

Beauregard walked out of the saloon and up the stairs, leaving a stunned cowboy at the table. By the time he opened the door to their room he was shaking, and he sat down heavily on the bed while three pairs of eyes watched him.

"How'd it go?" his brother asked, and he shook his head.

"We're in deep trouble."

XXXXXXXX

Hansboro sat at the table a long time after Beau Maverick stalked out. He knew the man had a temper, and a reputation for losing that temper, but he'd never seen anything quite like what he'd just witnessed. He almost believed his former friend when Beau insisted he didn't know where the money was.

Now what?

XXXXXXXX

"You want a drink of water, Pappy?"

"Or a cup pf coffee?"

"What I want," replied Beauregard Jefferson Maverick, "is a drink."

Stunned silence followed that pronouncement. "Calm down, boys, there won't be one taken here tonight. Ben, did you get an answer to your telegram?"

"I did, straight from the marshal himself. The twenty-thousand dollars has never been recovered. There's still a twenty percent reward for any part of it that's turned in."

"What about Hansboro?" Bret asked. "What did he have to say?"

"He thinks I've got the money. Says that Tyler told me where it was and I was supposed to get him out. When three years went by and that didn't happen, Tyler tried to break out with his cellmate and got killed instead. He wanted to know if I'd bought Ben's house with the money."

"Are you . . . serious?" Bart asked.

"I guess the next move is . . . Vic's." Beau stated solemnly.

Bret settled his hat on his head and grabbed his brother's arm. "Where are we goin'?" Bart asked.

"To see the marshal."

"Sit down, Bret. Goin' to see the marshal ain't gonna do any good."

"Then what're we gonna do?"

"What I shoulda done to begin with," Beau answered.

"Which is?"

"Kill the bastard."


	6. My Problem

Chapter 6 – My Problem

Hard to believe only a single day had passed since Vic Hansboro had turned up in the Belle Union Saloon, more or less stalking the Maverick family – at least the Beauregard Maverick branch of the family. And now it appeared that that particular branch was stalking Vic Hansboro back.

Every time he turned around one of them was following him. Beauregard, patriarch of the clan, was right behind him all morning. Bentley, Beau's younger brother, was there come afternoon. Bret and Bart, the look-alike son and his younger brother, shadowed him all night. Come daylight, Beauregard was back again.

Now the onus was on him, and it appeared he had only two choices. Go back to scratching and clawing just to make enough of a living to get by, or carry out his original plan and claim the revenge he'd believed himself entitled to for so many years.

He'd spent most of the night drinking whiskey and playing Faro, and come morning he'd made up his mind – he fully intended to kill one or more of the Mavericks. Who or how many it would be depended entirely on fate. He knew he couldn't accomplish that goal in the inebriated state he was in, and headed back towards his hotel.

He was in no hurry to finish the task at hand, knowing that if he was lucky enough to make a clean escape he'd have a long ride in front of him. He slept most of the day and decided around five o'clock to find something to eat, unaware of the fact that his room was being watched. Beauregard's oldest 'boy' Bret had stood guard most of the late afternoon and early evening, and even now was waiting for his brother Bart to relieve him. Neither was concerned for their own welfare – it had been years since they'd seen their father as disturbed by the turn of events as he'd been earlier in the day, and they were determined that Pappy not be faced with the prospect of committing murder.

Of course, Vic Hansboro knew none of this. Part of him believed that everything he'd heard from Beau Maverick was a lie, and part of him believed Tyler Wilkes had been telling tales. It was easier to accept Beau as the perjurer, simply because he'd believed it far longer. He left his room, locking it behind him, just as the younger Maverick brother arrived to assume his turn as watchdog.

Both men were secreted around a corner of the hallway and weren't visible as Hansboro left and headed down the stairs. "Follow him?" the younger one asked.

"You betcha," his brother answered. "Gotta keep him away from Pappy."

There was a small café outside the hotel and across the street, and that's where Hansboro headed. It didn't serve the best food in the world, but it was edible and cheap, and after he'd lost out on the windfall he was hoping to collect, it was all he could afford. The brothers followed him discreetly and headed around the back of the café, where they waited until he'd finished his meal and paid for it. He left the café and headed for the Belle Union Saloon, and they stayed far enough behind him that they weren't seen.

Twenty minutes later all hell had broken loose in the poker room of the Belle Union, and the Maverick brothers were sure that Beauregard Jefferson Maverick, otherwise known as Pappy, was dead.

XXXXXXXX

Beau had been playing five-card draw all afternoon and evening; that and drinking coffee were about all he was capable of. The four Maverick men had put their heads together and decided the best thing they could do was bird-dog Hansboro until he either gave up or made his move. They took turns following him, but Beauregard was so tied up in knots that sleep was the last thing he was able to accomplish. Thus poker and the black liquid that kept him from drinking anything stronger.

Right after five o'clock, Bentley joined him at the poker table, and it didn't take long for them to 'beat' the rest of the table into submission. When the last man had left the game and there were only the two of them sitting there, Bentley ordered a sandwich to be split between them and convinced his brother to at least try eating.

"Will you quit nagging me if I do?" Beau asked petulantly.

"Yes, I will, Beauregard. But you have to eat the dang thing, not just sit and stare at it. Deal?"

"Deal," came the reluctant answer.

And, to their amazement, both of them managed to consume what was placed before them. Ben had just stood up and pushed his chair away from the table when Bret and Bart hurried in the back entrance to the saloon.

"He's on his way over here," Bret announced in a hushed tone of voice.

"Nope, he's here," Bart added as Hansboro walked in.

Beau stood up from the table, with Bret and Ben to his right and Bart to his left. "Back up, boys," he told all three of them, and they obeyed the command and took two steps backward. "Keep your hands away from your guns. This is my fight, not yours."

"Don't you think the odds are a little lop-sided?" Vic asked.

"You're the one threatenin' to kill my sons. We never were gun hands, and you know it." Beau stared at Vic, waiting for that split-second move, that poker-tell that would give Hansboro away and allow Beauregard an advantage; any kind of advantage – but none came.

Vic drew and fired, and Beau dropped to the floor. There was no sound, no movement, and the three remaining Mavericks believed Beauregard dead. Hansboro continued shooting, determined to take as many of the family as possible into the promised land, but after the first well-aimed shot he was wild and erratic. The remaining men were not fast; not gunslingers by any means, but they were all accurate, and three separate bullets struck their mark. Hansboro's eyes opened wide in surprise and his pistols fell from his hands; he slumped forward and lay still.

Bret dropped to his knees and cradled his father in his arms, a single tear running down his face. Bart removed the pistol from Pappy's right hand and held the hand with his own. Ben crashed to the ground and wailed like an animal.

The marshal appeared from nowhere and tried to make sense of the chaos. "What happened?" he demanded. "What happened?"

The bartender was the only one that answered. "The guy over there in the black vest drew on the gambler and shot him, then tried to take out the other three. He was a fool, marshal, and they killed him."

There was a slight moan from the body in Bret's arms, and the marshal yelled, "Get Doc Sellers. This man's alive!"

"Get him off the floor, Bret," Bart directed, and the soon-to-be twenty-two-year-old did as told. He picked up an arm full of father and laid him down gently on the poker table.

"Pappy," Bret whispered, and kissed his father on the forehead.

A small man, old and tired looking, pushed through the crowd of on-lookers and began to give orders. "Get out of the way. Where's he hit? Let me see. Here, hold this rag right there. Relatives, eh? Can somebody carry . . . that's it, boy. Follow me."

Bret and Bart picked their father up and carried him out of the Belle Union. The marshal gathered Ben off the ground and helped him out of the saloon, and the bartender threw a towel over Vic Hansboro and let him lay on the floor.

XXXXXXXX

Over an hour later Doc dropped the slug into a cup and looked up from the table. "Real lucky, gentlemen. Mr. Maverick's real lucky. If that pocket watch hadn't been where it could deflect the bullet, we wouldn't have been discussing how long it's going to take for him to heal. You'd have been burying him up on the hill you told me about."

"Oohhh, ouch," was the next thing heard from the exam table. "Where's the damn mule?"

"The one that kicked you in the gut, Pappy?" Bret asked him.

"That's him," Beauregard mumbled.

"The last time we saw him he was layin' on the floor at the Belle Union," Bart explained.

"Breathin'?"

"Uh, no."

"Good," Pappy sighed. "Who got him?"

"Me," Ben affirmed.

"And me," Bret added.

"Me, too," Bart finished.

"I'll tell you the truth when I get the body here," Doc explained. "But it wouldn't surprise me if they were all right. By the way, I'm Doc Sellers, Mr. Maverick. You're gonna need a new watch."

"Don't care. Everybody alright?"

"Except for you. But I'm pleased to announce you'll get over it."

Beauregard closed his eyes and smiled. "Good . . . men."

The door opened and the marshal started to walk in. "Out, Yankee," the doctor stopped him with a hand to the chest.

"But Doc . . . "

"No butts, marshal. This man almost died and he deserves some peace and quiet."

"But what about them?" the marshal asked with a sweeping gesture of the hand.

"They're his problem."

Another smile appeared on the patriarch's face. "My problem. My . . . problem."

TBC


	7. Amen

Chapter 7 – Amen

Twenty-four hours later Beau Maverick was back in his hotel room at the Belle Union, installed on the bed, sound asleep. Brother Ben slept in an over-stuffed chair next to him; his sons each had a spot on the floor as close as they could get to the bed. When the knock came on the door all four were awake; one of them had his gun drawn.

"Who is it?" Ben asked before opening the door.

"Marshal Dutton," came the answer.

Both sons had scrambled to their feet by the time the marshal got into the room. "How's he doin' this evenin'?" Dutton asked, and Ben nodded.

"Sleepin', mostly. Doc gave him that Laudanum to hold down the pain, and it keeps him pretty well out most of the time. Did you need somethin', marshal?"

"I just came by to tell you the inquiry's unofficially closed, Mr. Maverick. Everybody I spoke to told me the same story – Hansboro walked into the saloon and pulled his gun, shot your brother in the stomach and just kept shooting at you all until he went down. Self-defense."

"Thanks, Dutton."

"How long you gonna be in Abilene?"

"Looks like another week. Soon as we can load him in a wagon, we'll be on our way. Do you need somethin' before we go?"

The marshal hesitated. "Do you think you could come down to the office and sign a statement for me?"

"Is that all you need from us?" Ben asked.

"That's it, Mr. Maverick. Then I can close everything. Officially."

"Is it ready right now?"

"Yes, sir. It's finished and sittin' on my desk."

"Then let's go get it signed, Dutton."

In five minutes Ben and the marshal were gone, and father and sons were left in the room alone. "Do we have to wait a week?" murmured the man in the bed.

"Yes, Pappy, we do. You're not fit to ride all the way back to Little Bend right now," Bret told his father.

"And no ifs, ands or buts," Bart added.

"This is payback, isn't it? For all those times I told you no."

Bret and Bart looked at each other and smiled.

"Yes."

"No."

"Might as well give it up, pa, even Uncle Ben says no."

"Ah, what does Ben know? This hole ain't in his gut, it's in mine." Beau sighed and changed subjects. "Some birthday present this trip turned out to be, eh?"

Bret let a big grin spread across his face as he sat down in the chair by Beau's bedside. "Some birthday present, Pappy. I couldn't have asked for nor gotten a better one."

"What, me shot up in this bed?" Beau's eyebrow went up, a trait his younger son would emulate in the future.

"You, Pappy, alive."

"Yeah, Pa, what are you gonna do for my birthday?" Bart asked as he sat on the edge of his father's bed.

"I think I'll take a pass on gettin' shot."

"You have all the fun," the younger Maverick told his brother.

"Again? Who's got the hole in their gut?" Beau tried to laugh and ended up howling in pain. He was still choking and snorting when Ben returned five minutes later.

"I leave you alone with your Pa for five minutes and you try to kill him?"

The brothers looked chagrined and turned serious. "Pappy wants to go home, Uncle Ben."

"It's too soon."

"It's my gut," Beau insisted.

Ben sighed. "Why do I even try with you?"

"Is this what we're gonna be like when we're . . . old?" asked Bart.

"Of course not," Bret replied.

"You'll probably be worse," Ben told them both.

"Way worse," their father agreed.

"Huh! I'd like to see that," Bret insisted.

"I've no doubt that you will, my boy. And I hope that I'm still around to remind you of the day the premature death of Beauregard Maverick was the main topic of discussion."

"Amen," Ben stated flatly.

"Amen," added Bart.

"Enough with the Amen's," insisted Beauregard. "Let's go home."

The End


End file.
